


Dr. Nosferatu

by Fire_Bear



Series: FrUK Spring Festival 2017 [8]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (I mean kind of?), (because vampire), Accidental Relationship, Biting, Day 6, Dependency, Doctor/Patient, First Meetings, FrUKSpringFestival2k17, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 15:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: Francis is a good doctor - he just has a secret that he's struggling to hide at the moment. When Arthur Kirkland walks into his practice, will the secret be revealed?





	Dr. Nosferatu

**Author's Note:**

> I actually managed to finish this on time! Yay!
> 
> There's probably inaccurate medical practices in here but they're necessary for plot, dammit!

Francis had lost count of how many years he’d been alive.

Well, not that he was technically _alive_ , being a vampire. He’d been turned when he had survived the Middle Ages into his twenties. The thing that had turned him had been one of the original vampires and Francis had been worried that he’d be impaired with all the ‘disabilities’ that vampires had to bear. Thankfully, the vampire had been weaker than expected and Francis had managed to live in the sunlight and the growing Christian community. He couldn’t eat too much garlic but, in small amounts and mixed into dishes, he wasn’t really affected. Holy water had never been an issue as he had been careful enough not to draw the attention of hunters.

Of course, over time, he realised that he would have to move if he didn’t want people asking questions. To begin with, he did so every ten years, looking for work elsewhere and trying not to draw too much attention to himself. As long as he wasn’t too hungry, he would never kill anyone. But their eyes whenever they saw him…

After a while, he’d had to learn how to make his own documentation, forging it and changing his surname (and sometimes his first name) every so often. With that new knowledge, he was able to amass enough money to go to university. At first, he had tried to find a way to reverse his vampirism. When he failed to find a solution, he made sure to give himself enough careers to fall back on. All he had to do was lift the name and dates from the document and replace them with others. It grew more difficult when computers came into play but he had soon taken a course and was soon able to hack into the systems he needed in order to give himself a believable CV.

Sometimes, he would actually attend the universities he lied about going to. There was a constant development of human knowledge and he had to keep up. In particular, biology and medicine came on in leaps and bounds and he was very interested in knowing more about what he was doing to the humans he had to feed on.

Every time he drank from a person – which he tried to limit – he hated the way they screamed or struggled. It saddened him and he wished he could stop. But when he had originally tried to stop himself, his hunger forced him to kill, even if he had been forcing himself to drink animal blood. Then he had heard about the donations of blood, of the bags of blood just _lying_ in hospitals to save humans’ lives.

So he began to steal bags of blood, just the odd one or two every so often. It didn’t taste as good but it kept him alive and quenched his hunger. As security became more important to humans, Francis became a doctor, moving between hospitals and doctor’s practices when he needed to. He still only took just enough but, suddenly, his current workplace realised bags were going missing and the security around the blood grew.

With no way to get his food without questions, Francis tried to continue as usual, refusing to feed on humans again. He was thousands of years old; he could wait until he could get to the blood again. After all this time, he was used to the hunger. He could control it.

Couldn’t he?

* * *

“I’ll see you in a few weeks, Mrs. Honda,” Francis said with a forced smile. He walked the woman to the door. “Don’t forget to make the appointment at the desk before you leave.”

“Thank you, Doctor Bonnefoy,” the woman replied with a big grin.

With another forced smile, Francis waved and closed the door, gasping as soon as he was alone. There was a familiar pain in his stomach, so severe it was getting more and more difficult to work. But he only had to wait a few more hours before he could leave for home – though he suspected he would have to find someone to drink a little from before the hunger would get any stronger.

In the meantime, he just had to focus.

Biting his lip, careful not to pierce the skin, Francis pushed himself from the door and moved to his desk where he began to fill in the files for Mrs. Honda. She was a lovely woman, sweet and cheerful and utterly in love with her husband who, apparently, was working even more in order to have money set aside for when the baby came. And she had a spicy-smelling B- blood type.

Francis shuddered at his own thoughts and firmly pushed it aside. It was difficult, however, and he kept remembering the smell, her pretty little neck. Taking deep breaths, he stared at the keyboard and continued typing until he realised that he was typing the same thing over and over. When he looked up, he recoiled in horror.

All that was written in the new page of Mrs. Honda’s records was:

##  **BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD**

##  **BLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLO**

Gasping, Francis deleted the new information, breathing heavily and clutching at his chest. The phantom sensation of his heart thumping made him shudder again. His hunger was definitely on the verge of making him lose his self-control. But he couldn’t just walk out of the practice. There was a reputation to maintain and if he didn’t keep going, he was sure to put a blemish on it. And, if he went to the reception area to explain to Miss Laurent that he had to leave as he was feeling ill, there would be too many _people_ for him to control himself.

Taking a deep breath, Francis went back to filling in the records, slower than normal. He was only halfway through what he would normally have done (and had had to delete the word **BLOOD** far too many times) when the intercom crackled to life. “Doctor Bonnefoy, are you ready for your next patient?”

Jumping in surprise, Francis cursed his hunger and hurried to answer. “Oh, yes. Go ahead, Bella.”

The intercom cut off and Francis went back to the computer to bring up his schedule. He was about to see a Mr. Arthur Kirkland, though his patient files were either non-existent or sealed. Curious, he went back to filling in more of Mrs. Honda’s file before there was a knock at the door.

“Ah, come in,” he called, minimising the window and bringing up another one so he could find out what Mr. Kirkland needed.

He turned as the door opened and watched as the man walked in, head turned as he caught hold of the door in order to shut it. The man was wearing black skinny jeans and a green corduroy jacket which had been left open. His hair was a sandy blond and looked as though he hadn’t brushed it that morning. Once he’d closed the door, he turned around and Francis took in the plain, black t-shirt he wore beneath the jacket. Then he looked up at the man’s eyes. They were such a bright green that Francis thought that he was some sort of ethereal creature he had never seen before. His thick, dark eyebrows shadowed them but, otherwise, he was quite handsome.

“Arthur Kirkland?” he said, just to confirm.

“Yes,” the man answered, shortly.

“Please.” Francis gestured at the seat on the other side of his desk, closest to the examination table. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” said Kirkland with nod. He crossed the room and lowered himself onto the very edge of the seat.

“Well, what seems to be the problem?”

“No real problem,” Kirkland answered and now Francis could discern his English accent, though he couldn’t place where exactly in the country it had come from. “I’m staying here for a couple of years but I was told that it would be a good idea to get registered at the local GP’s- _doctor’s_ practice, just in case. The receptionist said to come in today for a check-up?”

“Yes, we like to do a check-up on all incoming patients, just in case there was something your last doctor missed,” Francis explained, hiding a wince as his stomach cramped. “It’s just taking a few blood samples, checking on your heart and lungs, things like that. You can also take this time to tell me about anything that’s bothering you?”

“Nothing, really,” said Kirkland, though he looked like he was holding something back.

“Really?” Francis asked, not something he would usually do with a patient but he had half his attention on his hunger so it slipped out before he could stop it.

Kirkland looked bemused, a small smile forming. “Unless you want me to complain to you about how weird everything in America is?”

“Oh, yes, I completely understand _that_ ,” said Francis with his own amused smile. He’d said it without thinking – he wasn’t sure if it was because of his distractedness or that pretty little smile – and regretted it immediately. Kirkland’s brow furrowed and his expression morphed to one of confusion. Francis was talking with an American accent; he had forcibly dropped his own accent so that he could blend in and, now, he always spoke in the accent of whichever country he was living in.

“You’re not from here? I’d never have guessed; your accent’s completely gone!” Kirkland commented. Francis almost sighed in relief.

“If you’d like to complain,” Francis suggested hurriedly, “you can. But we should maybe get started on this examination, yes?”

With another bemused smile, Kirkland stood and made his way to the table. Francis’s eyes flickered over his body, taking in his lean frame and rather delectable ass. What would it be like to sink his teeth into it… He had to shake himself from that train of thought and quickly made a mental _doctor’s_ note that he looked as healthy as horse. Hopefully there wouldn’t be anything seriously wrong with him in this check-up. He’d had a British patient before who had had diabetes for a while but hadn’t turned up at their local doctor’s in their home country. It seemed to be a trait that the British were stubborn about inconveniencing their National Health Service.

As he sat on the table, Kirkland said, “I suppose the first thing to complain about is that they drive on the other side of the road. I know a lot of places drive on the right but I keep looking the wrong way to cross the road and I’ve nearly had a heart attack when cars have passed right in front of me!”

“I’m from France,” Francis told him as he unwound his stethoscope from around his neck. “That’s never really been a problem for me.”

“Figures,” said Kirkland with a sigh.

“Could you take off your jacket and raise your shirt up for me, please?” Francis asked as he placed the ear-tips into his ears.

“Sure.” Kirkland slid the jacket off effortlessly, throwing it towards his chair. He must have had good aim as it landed over the back of it, folded over neatly. Sending Francis a grin, he then pulled up the shirt – and kept going, pulling it off completely. Francis nearly had a phantom heart attack himself; most of his patients were more than willing to keep their clothes on as much as possible and Francis didn’t mind at all. But now he was treated to the delicious sight of Kirkland’s lean body and he struggled to keep his hands (and teeth) to himself. “This is easier, right?” asked Kirkland, tossing the shirt over his jacket.

“Ah… yes,” Francis said, a little breathlessly. To distract himself from his thoughts, he breathed on the bell to 'warm it up’.

“Another thing I don’t like about being here is that there aren’t any electric kettles. I’ve asked my mum to send me one. You know, my roommate says that he just heats up water in the microwave.” Kirkland wrinkled his nose at that. “That’s just wrong.”

Francis hummed in response, trying to both ignore the crawling feeling in his stomach and concentrate on what he was doing. He pressed the bell against Kirkland’s chest (trying to ignore the slight trembling of his hands) and blocked out what the young man was saying. That turned out to be a mistake as he could hear the steady pumping of Kirkland’s heart and his hunger latched onto it, reminding him that there was blood ( _bloodblood_ _ **bloodblood**_ ) running through it. If he hadn’t been battling with it all day, Francis might have jerked away from his new patient. Instead, he stiffened before pulling away with a nod.

“Sounds fine,” he murmured, mostly for show. Then he remembered what Kirkland had been talking about and he latched onto it for something else to focus on. “And I drink coffee, I’m afraid, so I don’t really have that problem. I’ve got a French press at home.”

“Of course you do,” said Kirkland with a roll of his eyes. He seemed amused, his smile growing as he watched Francis turned the bell over. It made Francis feel things he hadn’t felt in a long, long while. Surprised, Francis quickly turned his attention to what he was doing.

“When I tell you to, breathe in and then out, okay?” Once he had gotten a nod, Francis took an unnecessary breath himself and said, “In.” Kirkland did as he was asked. “Out. In. Out.” Nodding to himself, he shifted his position so he could press the bell to Kirkland’s back. He repeated the process and Kirkland obediently did as he was asked. Once he was finished, he stepped back and looped his stethoscope around his neck again. “Right, everything sounds good. Just your bloods now.”

Kirkland winced. “I _hate_ needles,” he muttered, a little petulantly. Francis thought it was adorable. He hid a smile as he opened a drawer to find the packet he needed.

“Don’t we all,” he said to Kirkland over his shoulder.

“Surely you should like them since it helps you in your work?” said Kirkland, eyebrow raised when Francis turned back to him.

“Touché,” Francis replied with a perfect French accent.

Snorting, Kirkland held out his arm. Francis ripped open the packet and paused for just an instant as he remembered what he was about to do. His stomach would have growled if it could have since it realised that what it wanted was so close. Suppressing a shudder, Francis took another breath and placed the point of the needle against the inside of Kirkland’s elbow. Kirkland tensed and Francis smiled, meeting Arthur’s gaze.

“You’ll be fine, Mister Kirkland. I-”

“Arthur,” he said, nose scrunching up once more. “'Mister Kirkland’ is just weird.”

“All right, then, Arthur. It won’t take too long-”

That was as far as he got in his distraction speech before he finally pushed the needle into Arthur’s vein. The intense smell of blood hit him immediately, something that was normally dulled by the plastic or glass encasing it. It was the sweet, sweet, _mouth-watering_ smell of AB-, eternally enticing, drawing his attention.

For a second nothing happened. Then Francis lost all control of himself. He knew he had when he saw Arthur’s eyes widen and his expression changed from reluctant acceptance to confusion to horror in quick succession. But he couldn’t stop what happened next.

With a snarl, he dropped the needle and grabbed Arthur in his strong grip. Arthur gasped and then opened his mouth, presumably to yell. Francis’s speed stopped whatever he had been about to do. He manoeuvred his prey around until he was the one sitting on the table with Arthur in his lap. The movement made him yelp, not loud enough to attract attention. Arthur struggled in his grip, trying to stand or pull away. Francis merely grabbed hold of his head and pushed it out of his way.

Then Francis leaned over him and bit down into his neck.

Blood gushed out, filling his mouth with the sweet nectar. Greedily, Francis gulped it down, suckling at Arthur’s neck. His prey continued to struggle for exactly two seconds before the strange vampire’s venom worked its way through him and he slumped against Francis, obediently rolling his head to the side so that Francis had more access. Francis growled low in his throat and tugged Arthur against him more. Arthur moaned at the movement which had caused a burst of the venom to spread through him again.

After a while, Francis lapped up the stray blood from his neck, sealing the wound there. Arthur wasn’t dead yet, of course, he would survive that much blood taken from him: it seemed that he was working with muscle memory. But Francis was still hungry and it clawed at him, demanding to be fed completely and Francis enjoyed using every part of his prey when he was in this state. So he threw Arthur onto the table where the human rolled his head to the other side with a whimper, a hand reaching out for him. It was an invitation and Francis took it, leaping on top of him and biting into the other side of his neck, sucking down the blood there.

Minutes passed as Francis drank, changing positions every so often. He bit at a point above Arthur’s heart, bit his side, forced him to turn and ripped his jeans off so he could fulfill his fantasy of biting his ass. It was as delicious as it looked. Finally, Francis came back to his senses as he drank from his original point of access, Arthur’s jeans and underwear around his knees.

Francis jerked away with a gasp. What had he done?! He stared down at the boy – he couldn’t have been older than 20 – who was covered in smears of blood. His eyes were lidded and he looked blissful, a side-effect of the venom. With the amount of blood he’d drunk, his hunger completely sated, Francis knew that Arthur would die. He was barely alive at the moment, his fingers twitching as he tried to reach for the vampire, draw him back to him, entice him back to drinking from him.

What was he going to do? When Arthur didn’t walk back out of the room, Miss Laurent would notice and ask questions. And how would he explain how Arthur had bled to death in his room? He was still alive… Maybe Francis could take him through to the main part of the hospital and save him. But how would he explain to everyone there what had happened? People were going to think that he’d attacked Arthur and then he’d be sent to prison, maybe given the death sentence. And then everyone would know what he was when he didn’t age or didn’t die by electricity. Or would he die by electricity? He didn’t know. There was a Romanian vampire who probably knew-

With a sharp gasp of realisation, he remembered his meetings with that particular vampire. He found humans’ takes on vampires to be amusing and often called himself Vlad or Dracula for the fun of it. That wasn’t his real name but Francis had only found out when his companion, a man named Andon, had told him so.

Andon, however, was not human as Francis had first assumed. Francis knew that Andon was a servant of Vlad and had often seen him create meals for himself with actual food and not blood. It had taken seeing him again after fifty years to dispel that notion. Apparently, Vlad had turned him into a vampire, though the strange mechanics of turning humans and the unique biology of each person and vampire meant that Andon could still function almost completely like human. The man would get cravings for food despite not actually needing it which was something Francis didn’t have the luxury of doing: solid food made him ill.

If they could do it, why couldn’t Francis? It was quite a simple process. Vlad had told him what you had to do. And, if he did it quick enough, Arthur wouldn’t die.

He didn’t waste time debating with himself. Pushing his sleeve out of the way, Francis raised his wrist to his mouth and bit into it, rather harshly. His punishment. He winced at the unforeseen pain but he rushed to Arthur’s side, his lip curling a little at the ugly, black blood which oozed from his veins. Quickly, he hefted Arthur up until he was in a seated position, Francis sitting behind him so that he could keep him upright. Pressing his wrist against Arthur’s mouth, he squeezed his hand into a fist and watched his blood drip against Arthur’s lips.

The young man didn’t react. “Come on, Arthur. You need to drink this. It’ll make you feel good.” Nothing happened. Francis tilted Arthur’s head towards him so he could see his face. “Arthur. Can you hear me?” There was a flicker of green behind Arthur’s half-closed eyes. “Please drink this.” Francis pressed his wrist more insistently against Arthur’s mouth, smearing it against his lips, willing it to go in. When nothing else happened, he reached up with his free hand and rubbed at Arthur’s throat. Thankfully, his reflex reaction took place and he was gulping down the dribbles of blood.

Something happened then. Francis could feel Arthur heating up far too quickly to be natural. Then, suddenly, Arthur’s tongue flicked out and lapped up stray drops of blood. Unsure whether it was actually working, Francis pressed his wrist still closer. The slight movement resulted in Arthur’s mouth moving around the bite wounds, his tongue flicking out once more as if to test what was there. Before Francis could pull away to see if it had worked, Arthur latched onto his wrist with a slight scraping of teeth, sucking at him as if he was trying to draw more blood out.

And it worked. Francis could feel it being drawn out of him. He gasped at the pressure of it, at the feeling of something being removed from him. Strangely, though, he liked it, enjoyed the sensation of being taken from, of providing for someone else. Warmth, something he’d not felt for some time, flooded through him and an odd happiness settled upon him as he gently stroked Arthur’s hair.

Arthur’s hands came up to grip at Francis’s arm, keeping it still as he sucked and slurped and gulped more of it down, reminding Francis of his own loss of control. Francis smiled fondly and continued to stroke Arthur’s hair. For a while it was peaceful. Francis was content. He didn’t care that he was probably running over time for his next appointment and he doubted he would care if Bella came in to see what was wrong and found him feeding Arthur.

All of a sudden, though, Arthur jerked away from him, twisting in Francis’s grip and shoving the doctor from his perch on the table. He slid from the table, surprised, and only just managed to grab hold of the table and stop himself from landing on his ass. Blinking, he turned his gaze up and found a furious Arthur, _glaring_ at him with glowing green eyes.

“What the _fuck_ did you just do to me?” he snarled.

“I… I just…”

Not waiting for an explanation, Arthur looked down at himself and, seeing his state of undress, turned such a look of disgust upon Francis that Francis’s poor, dead heart broke. “You sick- Did you actually-?” He stopped as realisation washed over him and Francis knew he remembered what had happened. “You just… You’re a _vampire_?!”

“Please,” Francis said, straightening up. “I… I didn’t mean to. I just lost con-”

“Why the hell are you masquerading as a doctor?! Is that poor receptionist under your thrall?”

“No, no,” Francis frantically shook his head. “I actually have my doctorate. Several of them, in fact,” he added as an afterthought.

“Do you do this to _all_ your patients?” Arthur demanded, hopping off the table and grabbing his underwear to pull it up. It distracted Francis for a moment and, when he didn’t respond, Arthur glared at him as he twisted the tight boxers into place. “You do, don’t you?”

“No! I told you, I lost control.”

“You’re a _monster_.”

That struck a nerve. “So are you,” Francis snapped, glowering at him as Arthur stomped across to the rest of his clothes.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he grabbed his t-shirt. “And how, pray tell, am _I_ a monster?”

“There was no other way to save your life after I-” Francis broke off from his angry tirade, pain and guilt flashing through him. “After I almost killed you…” he whispered, turning his haunted gaze aside and catching sight of the abandoned needle in front of a cupboard.

A heavy silence fell. Everything stilled. Then: “What… did you just… say?” Arthur croaked.

Francis forced himself to look at his latest victim and was dismayed to see the fear in Arthur’s eyes, his t-shirt only halfway down. “I… made you drink my blood. I turned you. You’re a-”

“No!” Arthur shouted. “This isn’t happening!” He pulled his t-shirt down with more force than necessary and grabbed his jacket. Using it to point angrily at Francis, he added, “I’m never coming to this place again!”

Unsure whether he stop him or not, Francis could only watch him go as the terrified Englishman disappeared from his life, taking with him whatever had made Francis feel alive again.

* * *

One week later, Francis was sitting in his house, reading a book. Reading _the_ book. He almost couldn’t help it. At least once a year, he’d find his third edition Dracula and read it through in one sitting, burning the contents into his mind.

Halfway into it, he was startled from the scene to a thumping noise. At first, Francis couldn’t think of what it was. It didn’t sound like anything he had in his house. After all, what would made five slow thuds, one after another? When it started up again, he realised it was some form of knocking at his door. He froze, worried about what could be making those slow thuds. Shuddering, he stood and cautiously made his way to the door. Maybe whoever it was would go away?

Unfortunately, he had reached the door of his contemporary living room when he heard the thuds again, this time only three of them. Now he was worried for the person on the other side. Surely that was someone, exhausted and desperate, looking for aid. So he quickened his step, unlocked the door and opened it.

“Hel-?” he began but stopped when he saw who it was.

Arthur was leaning against the door frame, using it to keep himself upright. His fangs were elongated and his eyes glowed brightly against the darkness beyond Francis’s door. There was sweat running down his temples and had stuck his hair to his forehead. He was without jacket, probably feeling too hot if Francis was any judge. His t-shirt had glowing tally marks on it and his jeans weren’t as tight, as if he had chosen clothes for comfort rather than appearance.

As soon as Francis spoke, Arthur’s head whipped up and his unfocussed eyes locked onto Francis. But he didn’t look Francis in the eye: Francis was sure he was staring in the general direction of his neck. Licking his lips, Arthur gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he glanced up to meet Francis’s eyes. “Master,” he breathed, his tone a mixture of begging and pleasure. It made shivers run up Francis’s spine.

Then Arthur was upon him, fangs sinking into Francis’s neck. He could feel that same pressure and the satisfaction of feeding someone. Even though he was startled, eyes wide, Francis had the presence of mind to step backwards despite the savage growl that ripped from Arthur’s throat as his meal tried to move away from him. But Francis stilled once he’d managed to get them both inside and closed the door. Arthur purred – literally purred; Francis had never heard a vampire do _that_ before – at that and pressed Francis against the wall, greedily drinking from him.

Finding himself smiling, Francis sighed happily. He wasn’t sure what these emotions were any more but he liked them, felt better than he had in centuries. As Arthur pressed into him, eager for more, Francis wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist and bent his neck more, willingly letting him feed.

It only took a few more minutes before Arthur was suddenly jerking away, almost ripping out Francis’s throat in his haste to get away. Francis reluctantly let him move away from him. Arthur stared, wide-eyed, at nothing, backing up until he was flat against the opposite wall.

“What the-? Where am I-?” Then his eyes took in Francis and he flinched. “Wha-? Why am I-? What did you _do_ to me?!” There wasn’t any accusation in his tone, only desperation and fear, as if he was on the edge of tears.

“I need you to tell me how you got here,” Francis said gently, gesturing for Arthur to follow him back into the living room. The dim light from the lamps dotted around the room gave it a cosy feel and he was sure Arthur would be able to calm down in there rather in the narrow hallway.

Thankfully, Arthur followed, sitting beside Francis on his couch. “I… I don’t know. I’ve been… _hungry_. Nothing helps. I’ve been eating almost as much as Alfred. But I’m always hungry. And it was getting worse. Then… Then…” Arthur frowned as he thought. “There was this… pull. I couldn’t stop myself. I was _so_ hungry. I didn’t really know where I was going but I just knew I had to.” His gaze lifted to Francis’s. “Is this to do with the vampire thing?” he asked, dryly.

“It looks like it,” Francis admitted. “I’ve never turned someone before.”

“What?” asked Arthur, flatly.

“I only knew what to do because someone I know has done it before.”

“Why couldn’t I get that guy?” Arthur muttered, folding his arms.

“Here…” Francis said, digging out his phone. “I’ll call him. I’ve been meaning to, anyway, but…”

“But what?”

“I was embarrassed,” Francis admitted with a shrug of his shoulder.

He rang Vlad’s number and waited for it to connect before it trilled. Seeing Arthur’s intense stare, he put the phone on speaker and set it down on the coffee table. Finally, there was an answer. “Francis, what in all that is unholy-?” Vlad grumbled. “Do you know what time it is?”

“I’m sorry,” Francis said, grimacing a little, aware that it was probably early morning in Europe. “I have an emergency.”

“Oh? A hunter finally after you?” Vlad sounded a little excited at that prospect.

“They’re all but extinct,” Francis said, rolling his eyes at Arthur who looked at least a little amused, if just for a moment. “This is more serious. Vlad. I… I turned someone…”

“Vlad?” he heard Arthur murmur but he ignored him for the moment.

“You did? Hey, welcome to the club!”

“Vlad!” Francis cried. “He just came to my house. He was drawn here and he… drank from me.”

“Well, duh!” Vlad replied and Francis could imagine him rolling those unnatural red eyes. “With each 'next generation’ of vampires, the intensity of the… let’s call it a disease. It’s diminished as it goes down the line. He still needs blood but he doesn’t crave or stalk human blood. He needs _yours_. And only yours. Why d'ya think I turned Andon? I really loved his blood – still do, actually. Love me some A-plus blood. Heh heh, see what I did there? Because-”

“We get it,” said Francis quickly. “What did you mean by 'only mine’?”

“Oh, that’s all that’ll quench his hunger. See, he’ll get cravings, sure. And he’ll be able to eat his favourite foods and drink his favourite drinks. His blood’s pretty much the same so he’ll be affected by alcohol and you can still get some delicious…?”

“AB-negative,” said Francis reluctantly, when it was clear Vlad wasn’t going to continue.

“Oooh, aren’t you a lucky dog!” said Vlad, cheerfully. Arthur scowled at the phone. “Anyways, the only thing that’ll really quench that hunger is your blood. Nothing else. Not even another vampire’s blood. He’s completely dependent on you so don’t let him get too far away – if he doesn’t get your blood consistently, he’ll go mad and kill everyone in the vicinity. Oh! Sorry. Francis turned someone, just helping 'em. Go back to sleep, darling. Sorry, Francis, I’m gonna have to go. Wanna snuggle with Andon more-” A loud groan cut him off and then he hung up, leaving the two vampires in a tense silence.

“You mean to say,” Arthur finally whispered, his voice hissing dangerously, “that I’m _stuck_ with you?”

Stunned, Francis raised his eyes to Arthur’s and flinched from his glare. “I am so sorry,” Francis whispered in return.

“This is… This is-! No! I don’t- I’ve got- This is all your fault!” Arthur shouted as his voice steadily rose and he leapt to his feet. “How _could_ you?!”

“I’m so sorry,” Francis repeated, standing to try to placate Arthur, hands raised.

“ _No_!” Arthur snapped, slapping Francis’s hands away. He glared once more at Francis before barging past him. Francis barely kept to his feet and quickly turned to try to stop him. But Arthur turned before he had gotten far, finger pointing at Francis accusingly. “I _hate_ you!” he declared, venom in his voice.

Somehow, that hurt Francis more than being turned had. “Wait. Arthur, _please_. We need to talk about-”

But Arthur had already stomped from the room and he was cut off by the slam of his front door. Francis stared at his living room door, willing Arthur to return. Then he barked out a laugh and collapsed into his couch, hand pressed against his brow.

What was he worried about? Arthur was doomed to return in a few days’ time.

**Author's Note:**

> Or _blessed_. ;)
> 
> I see their subsequent relationship as going something like this: Arthur resists for as much time as possible before going back - time between feedings gets shorter - eventually he goes every day but refuses to let Francis drink from him despite Francis getting quite desperate - they become sort of friends - Arthur lets him drink from him - with their blissful feedings, their relationship becomes sexual - fall in love - live happily ever after!


End file.
